“Excuse me? Could I speak with Peter, please?” Isabel is nervous. The nurse looks up from her desk and cocks her head to one side.
“I know you!” she says. “You’re the jogger!”
“Huh?”
“I see you running on the grounds every time I come in to work. You run right past the employee parking lot.” She smiles.
“Ohhh…”
“We’ve been talking about you…we’ve never seen a patient running on the grounds before.”
“Really?” Isabel smiles weakly.
“I think it’s great,” she says. “Good for you. Now, let’s see where Mr. Peter might be.” She swivels in her chair and checks a schedule hanging on the wall behind her. “He’s in art. You can go meet him there, if you want to. You know where the art studio is, right?”
Ah, yeah.
“Yes. Thank you.” Isabel goes back out the door.
Isabel tentatively enters the art studio.
The children are all engrossed in their various projects. The art teacher looks up and smiles. “Hello! Can I help you?”
“Um…” With a not-so-subtle flick of her head, Isabel motions for the teacher to step out of earshot from the children so they can speak privately. “I was wondering if I could borrow Peter for a moment,” Isabel asks shyly.
“Well,” the young teacher looks apologetic. “You can certainly talk to him, it’s not that, but while they’re here they can’t leave the building. They have to wait here for their escort back to their unit. So you guys could go over there—” she points to an empty table off to the side “—if you want. That’d be cool.”
Art teachers are all flower children. That’s in a rule book somewhere. All art teachers must look as if they’ve just stepped off Haight-Ashbury circa 1968.
“Great. Now, I know this sounds weird, but he’s not expecting me, so could you come over and let him know it’s okay to talk with me?”
“Sure. No problem.”
“Thanks. By the way, I’m Isabel.”
“Nice to meet you, Isabel.” Her face lights up like a dandelion. “I’m Sunshine.”
Peter is painting. Other children are talking but he is silent.
“Peter?” He does not look up. “Peter, I’m Isabel. I’ve tried to talk to you a couple of times. Is it okay if I paint with you for a minute?”
Sunshine smiles and floats away.
No response from Peter. Isabel picks up a brush and dips it into the yellow paint. She starts to paint a huge yellow circle.
“Peter, I’m going to be straight with you.” Isabel takes a firmer tone. “I don’t know why it is, but I have to talk to you, I have to. So you can just go on painting and pretending you can’t hear me, but I’m going to talk to you.” Though he has not looked up, Peter’s brush has stopped moving along the paper.
“I don’t know what your story is,” Isabel begins. “I don’t know why you’re here…and I don’t need to know. That’s your business. But there’s something about you that reminds me of myself when I was your age.”
His brush is still. He is listening.
“Did you know that when I was your age I did everything I could to avoid anthills, to make sure no one stepped on them? My brothers would step on them and I could literally feel them suffocating under the pavement. I could hear them shrieking for help, I swore I could. I still make sure I step around them. I saw you the other day, I saw you watching out for them, too. That’s when I decided I had to talk to you.”
Peter’s head slowly, ever so slowly, moves in an upward direction.
He’s going to look at me!
“You know, I used to feel everyone’s pain. Animals, insects, people…anyone who was hurt, I could feel it in here.” Isabel hugs herself, showing him how deeply she felt. Then she pauses and listens to her own words. “And it made me sad all the time.
“But I’ve realized…” What? What have I realized? “I’ve realized that if I do that maybe I can’t feel my own pain. I walk around worrying that I’ve upset someone, let someone down, made someone mad at me, stepped on someone’s anthill…you know? I can’t take on everyone else’s pain. The ants can take care of themselves, is what I’m saying. Let’s face it, they’ve been here long before us and they’ll survive longer than us…”
He’s looking up! Keep going.
“…so we have to concentrate on ourselves. On keeping some huge giant from stepping on us. Does that make sense?”
Peter’s head slowly bobs in agreement.
“Just help yourself, Peter. Don’t worry about the ants.” Isabel remembers her mother’s words. “Just help yourself. Love yourself as much as you love the animals and the insects and you’ll get better. You’ll get out of this place. I know you can do it. You can get out of here.”
Then something strange happens. Something strange and beautiful. Peter lifts his small head and smiles at her.
She strokes his tiny head and hugs him. Hugs him completely.
She holds him for a moment and then releases him.
Without saying anything, Isabel stands up and walks out the door. “Bye, Sunshine.” She smiles as she says the name.
“Have a great day,” Sunshine answers, really meaning it.
Isabel looks back at her friend. Peter is standing motionless, watching her go.
Isabel steps out into the sunlight.